Safety First
by K.E. Strokez
Summary: Washington DC is just as complicated as it's always been. Everyone is connected in a web of deceit and blackmail, and Olivia Pope sits in the middle. Watching. Elizabeth North is tired of her current situation and needs a change. Will an act of generosity turn things around? There's nothing wrong with wanting a little stability in life. (New pairing at the end!)
1. Prologue

**Note: This fiction was written as an experiment. Scandal, and all the characters within it, remain the property of whoever owns the rights.**

 **This fic was inspired by a song: "So much to Say" by Dave Matthews Band.**

* * *

The man and woman walked out into the dark night. The air was heavy with the mist of a confused late-winter night. They both wore coats: one white and the other a grey dark enough to be black.

"So, have you been seeing anyone lately?" He asked.

"You've _never_ had to ask," the woman replied, "what's the matter, Dad? Is your information chain beginning to slacken?"

"Can't a man ask his daughter about her life without being accused of spying on her?"

"I think we'd both agree, the man in question and his daughter are not ordinary enough for that question to be rhetorical."

"Touche, Olivia. Touche. But you still owe me an answer."

"No, I'm not seeing anyone. Are you selecting a candidate to change that, like you did before?"

"Well, to be fair..."

"I'd _really_ like to hear your explanation this time."

"You're my _daughter,_ Olivia. A second heart that beats outside of my chest. And I would like to see that spare organ taken care of. Now, I'm not a medical doctor, but I know there's two simple ways to do that."

Olivia braced herself for a speech.

"The first," the man began to lecture, "is good nutrition. And by the way you devoured your dinner tonight I can tell you haven't been eating well. As usual."

The woman rolled her eyes.

"The second, and we'd both agree is undisputed the world over," the man continued, "is to get _proper_ and _regular_ EXERCISE."

"How crude of you, Father."

"I have candidates, Olivia. Strong, healthy, attractive young men who have the equivalent of PHDs in you. Everything you like. Everything you _dis_ like. They can predict a change in mood. Know your menstrual schedule, and have all had reversable vasectomies, just in case you take a fancy to one.":

"DAD!"

He didn't look like he was joking. "You're family. I'm the one person in this world who will never disappoint you. Who will always reciprocate any affection you show me-"

"As long as I do _what you tell me to_."

"We're past that now, Olivia," the man sighed, "it's taken a while, but you're at the point where I can trust you to do the right thing. The clever thing. The ultimate thing. _The best thing_. You don't need regular lessons and homework assignments from your father. Or an instructional listicle on How to Play Washington."

"Despite what you think," she challenged, "not everyone wants power for power's sake."

"But they want power nonetheless. To wield it. To _feel_ it. To watch how people change when they enter a room. The level of respect power brings cannot be paralleled while you have it. And you want it, Olivia. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel the desire for it leaving your body through the follicles of your hair and charging the air around you. And. It. Makes. Me. So. _Proud_."

Olivia began to worry. If a man like her father, who had so often driven her insane with his shadowy life and twisted ulterior motives, was proud of her...

She stopped walking. So did he.

"Name _one thing_ ," she challenged him, "that I've done which makes you proud. Really, truly proud. One thing, that, if I were in B613 you would hesitate to kill me over."

"You've always done what's best for your clients. Betrayed your closest friends, your country...your father. But you've always done the right thing for them, despite the cost to yourself. You might not get a medal. Your name will be listed in big, bold, blood-colored letters on a massive pillar of eternal infamy. But you will be a true hero. One whom the simple-minded multitude are too under-evolved to understand. And it doesn't bother you."

"Was I _wrong_ to pick a companion for you?" The man asked after a pause. "Will you do as I wish and get back with the man who lives _there_?"

He raised his cheek at the illuminated white building several yards away. They were too far away to see if the balcony lights were on. To see if Fitz was seated there: grabbing a drink before he went back to pestering Abby.

 _His work-wife._

"I thought you didn't like the idea of my being First Lady."

"That was _then_ ," he explained, "when you were nothing but 'The Mistress'. The witless young woman kept by a man with control of all the Armed Forces. A pet that picked out place settings and kept his loins warm. But you're not the same person you were then. _You_ put your foot down. _You_ left _him_ : left a position of un-paralled power and renown to run _your own business_ which you built without his help. He _respects_ you now. He _fears you_ now. He can't be anything but _mediocre_ when you aren't around him. You _have him_ , Olivia. All you have to do is _make it formal_."

Olivia let the words linger in the night air until the mist from his last sentence had disappeared. And then she pulled out her phone.

"Who're you calling?"

"A greengrocer's," she replied with full honesty. "I need to eat healthy."


	2. The Flip

"We'll arrive half an hour after we leave, assuming there's traffic."

Elizabeth North glared at the intern. He'd been there a month and _still_ didn't understand that the Vice President _never_ had to worry about traffic. She made her mind up to fire him at the end of the day. Meanwhile, they were still in need of his services. Mediocre as they were.

At least until his replacement had been picked from the stack of application forms gathering dust in the corner of her office.

The door opened and in stepped a serious-yet-cheerful woman who was several inches shorter than Elizabeth was, but who had at least 20 IQ points on her.

"Don't mind me," she insisted, "I'll just park my old keester in here until the Youtube tour is over."

Ms. North saw the look of confusion on the intern's face and felt like hitting him. He was supposed to make sure the camera-wielding hipsters stayed away from their side of the building. And he had clearly forgot.

 _"You had ONE JOB,"_ the blonde thought to herself,

"Can I get you anything, Ma'am?" The Vice President's Chief of Staff asked her boss.

"Oh no. I can't eat before the trip. To be honest I don't think I can eat right after it either. I'm nervous. Ha _ha_ ha, you'd think I was competing and not just judging. Oh boy. These things can get quite intense."

A few months earlier, Ms. North would have rolled her eyes at the statement. But one thing both women had in common was their love of their daughters. And a spelling bee was the most innocent type of event a woman with Susan Ross' power could attend.

Elizabeth made her mind up to call her daughter after the meeting.

"Well, Stewart," the blonde woman instructed the intern, "perhaps you should see how our Youtube friends are doing. Take them on a tour of the garden, perhaps."

"But they're indoors, so they've probably seen the garden before they got here."

"How will you know if you don't ask them?"

Something seemed to click in his thick skull. He left: and forgot to leave the notes he was reading out to her. Elizabeth still had at least two hours, and could get a copy before then.

"Do you, um...think there'll be other high-ranking officials there?"

The Chief of Staff was proud that she didn't have to look at a piece of paper to answer the question.

"Other than a school superintendent or two, no one's listed. The mayor cancelled, understandably."

"An emergency meeting of construction workers asking to form a union: I know. To be honest, I'd rather be there."

So would Lizzie. She'd kill for some _real_ politics once in a while, too. But the Vice President only had two jobs: to stand by the administration, and not die.

 _Stand by, don't die._

Which meant Susan Ross would be at the spelling bee, and Elizabeth North would go with her...as per the request of her direct boss.

"Was there anyone in particular you'd have liked to attend?"

"Oh no," Susan answered, "well yes, but no. He'd be far, far too busy."

"I could look him up, if you..."

"Oh no. Yes. No. I mean yes. I mean no. Know what? I'll fip a coin."

She reached for the wallet concealed inside her jacket pocket – an eccentricity Elizabeth found to be _highly_ unfashionable – and pulled out a dime, which she then flipped and caught.

"Heads, I ask him. Tails, I don't."

Her hands didn't move.

"Are you...okay, Ma'am?"

"I need you to bear witness."

The blonde left her desk and walked over to the couch. The other woman exposed the coin. Tails.

"Oh well," Susan sighed with relief.

"Best 2 out of 3?" Elizabeth suggested. She was suddenly interested in what the coin had to say.

"Know what? Yes. Why not?"

Three tails in a row later, Susan left to call her daughter. She always did that before she exited the White House. Elizabeth had a call to make as well.

"This is the Attorney General of the United States," announced the voice at the other end of the line.

"You have to stop sending things to me at work," she stated without emotion. The flowers rested neatly atop her desk.

"I thought your office needed brightening up," he declared, "unless you'd like other ways to make it more...fun."

"I'm serious," she insisted, "we have to stay as professional as possible. No flowers, no notes with flowers. No rings in boxes."

"So you opened it? What do you think?"

"I think you sent it to the wrong person," she said, "I don't wear rings."

"I can get you a bracelet. Since rings and necklaces don't seem to be your thing."

"I can get _myself_ some bracelets, David. If I wanted jewelry I'd get it, without having it purchased by someone I'm...whatever. I hope you kept the receipt."


	3. OPA

The people gathered at the table turned to look at the white-blinded windows. Olivia took a seat without stepping into her office. Quinn lifted the first photograph off the table.

"Meet Tood Hartbloom: _before_."

Male, caucasian, blonde hair, blue eyes. Fairly attractive. Muscular.

"Left a promising, fairly luxurious future to work in construction. Didn't even finish high school," Quinn continued. "And now, meet Todd Hartbloom: _after_."

"Dayum!" Marcus exclaimed as Quinn smoothed down the photo she had just placed on the window.

"As you can see, the steel rod entered his back and protruded at least half a foot out of his chest," Huck explained, "accident at work: appears to be from a fall. That's what he says. That's what it looks like."

"Mr. Hartbloom wishes to sue his employer: the Pine Resin Construction Company, for unsafe working conditions resulting in his injury," Olivia informed them.

"Didn't he get compensation?" Marcus asked.

"He didn't need it," Olivia answered him, "despite the rather unfortunate accident, Mr. Hartbloom recently stumbled upon an unexpected windfall."

"A payoff?" Marcus asked.

"Inheritance," Quinn answered him. "Todd is sole heir to the Hartbloom Real Estate empire, due to his father being declared insane 5 years ago."

"So he wants to be famous, as well as rich," Marcus concluded. "High profile case, a real estate company and a guy who used to work in construction. He wants a profile to build up a new business. This is basically advertising by courtroom."

"And he's our new client," Olivia informed the room. "Todd may be rich, but he's been slumming it for a few years and has never played this game before. He came to us first before pressing charges because he knows that, and doesn't want to give Pine Resin a chance to prepare themselves."

"Our job," she continued, "is to dig up so much dirt on Pine Resin that they'll _beg_ to settle out of court."

"On it," Huck declared as he attached a projector cable to his laptop. "Pine Resin has been sued at least 12 times in the past for workplace accidents and been cited at least 30 times in other states for safety violations at its sites."

"So they have a pattern of negligence," Marcus concluded, "Huck just did all our work for us."

"Nothing is ever that simple," Olivia remarked as the elevator doors opened and someone walked in. "If all that information can be found in a 10-minute internet search, Mr. Hartbloom wouldn't have hired us."

The person took off the hat they were wearing and folded up the sunglasses they had taken off before they had reached that floor.

"Ready?" Mellie Grant asked. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"You're never interrupting anything, Mellie," Olivia declared as she rose from her seat, "let's get started."

They heard the office door being unlocked and Mellie settled in before the boss returned.

"We need more information. Something more current: most of those cases are from the last millennium, and the most recent incident -apart from this one- is dated 2003. Handle it."

She walked out of the room with full confidence in herself, and those seated at the table behind her.

"So," Olivia stated before she closed the office door behind her, "where were we?"

"I made the changes you-" Mellie was heard saying before the conversation was muffled.

"That is a weird-ass situation," Marcus remarked. Huck and Quinn had the same thought, but kept it to themselves.

"She's obsessed with the fetus of Mellie's campaign," Quinn risked remarking, "and we're handling a simple workplace dispute."

Huck looked at her.

"Well it's true," she defended, "we're going to solve this thing in two hours tops. Easy money. No challenge at all. She wants us occupied so we won't disturb her while she and the Senator edit a memoir."

"She has another plan," Huck stated as he shut his laptop down, "she must have."

"Hey at least we ain't dealing with spies, exploding cars and conspiracies," Marcus declared.

"Huck and I will visit the construction site where the accident happened," Quinn declared as she checked her jeans pocket for her keys.

"I guess that means I'm going to Pine Resin HQ."

"Where else would you go?" Huck asked as he walked out. It was obvious he didn't need an answer.

"Wait," Quinn observed aloud as they made their way to the elevator, "you grabbed a sandwich before you left. You never carry food with you when we're working. Are you...sick?"

"It's for the homeless person across the street," Huck remarked, "been sitting on the sidewalk for a few days. Must be hungry."


	4. Tinted Windows Suck Sometimes

The limousine traveled at a reasonable speed. They didn't want to draw too much attention to themselves, and a speeding car with an escort was a dead giveaway. The secret service had managed to talk the VP into allowing a decoy and a convoy to travel with her at all times. The woman had agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Elizabeth noticed her boss looking at her phone. There wasn't going to be a speech: it was a relatively low-key event, and Susan Ross could make one up on the spot if she were pressed to say a few words.

"My daughter wants to be in a spelling bee," Liz decided to supply.

"Really? Well mine wants to play pro football. Ha _ha_ ha. She's at that age. And if yours has your intelligence she'd be a champ."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Would you like to call someone? I have my iPod on me, so I can-"

"Oh no. No no no. We're on our way somewhere. And you have an iPod? You like music? Silly question, I know. Ha _ha_ ha. Who doesn't like music? You like musicals?"

"I used to," Lizzie admitted.

"Well I've been bitten by the Broadway Flea, it seems," the VP declared, "I watched the Tonys by accident, and now I want to see something on a stage, instead of a screen. You know?"

"There's a certain quality to live performances, for sure," Elizabeth North agreed.

"We're almost there, Madam Vice President," the bodyguard in the front seat declared.

Elizabeth looked out of the window on instinct. And then she realized the windows were tinted, so she couldn't see much. The car came to a halt and she waited for the security personnel to declare it safe to disembark.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Susan Ross look away from Elizabeth's window.

Of course she'd sneak a peek when _his_ office was across the street.


	5. C2H6O

Marcus stepped off the bus and dusted himself off. The state of public transport was appalling, but at least it got him where he needed to be that day.

He crossed the street from the bus top, just as-

 _BANG!_

Marcus had been in enough situations to know what to do next.

He dove onto the sidewalk with his arms over his head. Several other people did. But there was no second bang, and no sound of screeching tires.

He looked up, and so did everyone else who had ducked.

"So sorry everyone," someone explained, "My car tire blew. So sorry if that scared you."

Marcus rose to see that it was a curly-haired man with a flustered look on his face standing next to a car with a very deflated tire.

"You need help getitng it off the pavement?" Marcus offered.

"Gee thanks sir."

They only had to move the car a few feet before it was safely out of danger.

"Here's my card," the man declared.

"I don't have one, but...it was nice meeting you."

George Gunner – nice surname – Washington Herald. A low-level reporter, by the looks of him. And he didn't seem to be late.

"Good thing I made it here a few hours early. Might have missed an important appointment. You know how construction folk are. Never on time, never under budget, but always keep appointments."

"That's actually quite accurate. Hey if you're still stuck when I get back maybe I can call up a mechanic for you. I know some people."

"That'd be great. But AAA's on their way. At least, they'd better be."

"Cool," Marcus stated as he pocketed the card and walked off.

* * *

"Welcome to Pine Resin Construction. How may I help you?"

"I'm expected. I hope I'm not too early," the man said as he slid the reporter's card over to the attractive young receptionist with astoundingly short nails.

She looked at the computer screen in front of her.

"Actually, you can go right up. Good thing you got here at this moment. The bosses were about to take off somewhere after 10."

"Lucky me," the false Mr. Gunner remarked as he went deeper into the building.

"Well you're one helluva time-keeper Gunner," the man in the office declared as they shook hands, "take a pew."

"Thanks."

"How's everyone at the Herald?" The man wished to know.

He was a well-built, real-tan man with a friendly face and hands like shovels with sandpaper stuck to them.

"Fighting to publish at a faster rate than 140 characters per minute," Marcus joked. The man didn't get it.

The impostor pulled his phone and a notepad out of his pocket and looked like he wished to take notes.

"So I guess you'd like to know why you're here," the director stated.

"Everything has to be on the record," the fake reporter declared,"boss' orders."

"Good man. I like total honesty. So hard to find."

 _Oh the irony._

Marcus let his phone record the conversation, as he positioned the pen on his notepad.

"So here's the thing," the director began. "Couple' months ago we gave some of our guys warnin's 'bout drinkin' on the job. One of them in particular was notorious for it. Spoiled little rich kid with a small weiner who thought he could run away from home and play at being a man."

"You sure don't pull any punches, sir."

"This ain't no baby shower. So this guy shows up drunk sometime later. No one notices it: sometimes they carry these tiny hip-flasks with 'em and swig when they feel thirsty. So he gets himself drunk on the job, falls off several feet of scaffolding and impales himself on a steel bar. Now he wants to sue _us_ for negligence."

"He survived the fall?"

"Heck of a miracle it was too. Went right through his chest. So he gets the nerve to sue us cos we fired him after that. I mean, sure: no one likes to kick a man when he's down. But this ain't a welfare office. And things coulda been much worse."

"How do you know he wants to sue you?"

"Word around town is he's going into business for himself. Wants some _starting capital_ , if you know what I mean."

"Do you have proof he was drunk on the day of the accident?"

"We found a plastic coke bottle filled with enough hooch to lay a bull low. And it was up on the level he was working on. Right next to his toolbox. The other guys were several floors lower, so it can't have been them."

"That isn't evidence."

"We also have his medical records from the day of the accident. His blood/alcohol level might as well have been named in reverse."

"I'll need to see them. _Confidentially_ , of course."

* * *

The fake reporter left the building an hour later and waited until he had turned a corner before he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Huck," he said, "I've just seen some medical reports and sworn testimonies from medical staff and EMTs that Hartbloom was drunk on the day of the accident."

"We're at the construction site," Quinn added in the background, "this place is more secure than a daycare center in a doctor's plaza. No way any codes were violated here."

"I have footage of the site before the accident," Huck declared after typing something on the laptop he was balancing on one thigh, "safety standards were met. Also have records of the incident report at the hospital. It says his blood had a high level of alcohol in it."

"He _lied_ to us," Quinn said with relish.

She knew what to do with liars.


	6. Dictation

"Do I have to?" Mellie complained.

"This book has to be flawless. Every line has to be well-crafted. Every word has to be placed correctly. But sometimes what looks good on paper doesn't translate too well when spoken aloud. You _have_ to."

"There was no doubt after I had received that evidence. My husband: the man I trusted, the father of my children, the President of the United States. Was having an affair. My first feeling was betrayal. And then it was replaced by anger. Definitely directed at _him_ for what he had done: lying, over and over again. We had just lost a child: the miscarriage was devastating."

Olivia swallowed as she tried to push the memory of her visit to Planned Parenthood out of her mind. Mellie continued.

"But then my anger was turned on her. The woman who had figuratively climbed in through the only window I had left open to ensnare the man I loved and wreck my home. She, who could have had any man in Washington, had set her claws in mine. I wondered if she looked at his wedding ring and wondered if he would give her one too. I wondered, if they had children together, if they would be allowed to meet mine. If they would be raised as siblings. I did all of that because somewhere in my mind I knew that Olivia Pope would not be leaving us any time soon. That she was there to stay. An unwanted member of the family. An embarrassment too prominent to deny."

Olivia blinked: slowly. Mellie read on.

"She's a fixer by profession. That's how she met him. She was there to _fix_ him. Instead she twisted him until he became hers. She took him away from me and I had no idea until it was too late. She was so enmeshed in our lives that we could not do without her. And if we let her go, her absence would spell the end of what we had worked on for so long."

Olivia tensed her jaw. They had worked on that part of the book so much that it stopped being emotional after the 17th reading.

"Olivia was like a sex worker in a moralistic patriarchy. Necessary to counter the sexual repression of those who paid for her services, but not given the right to come out into the open and be acknowledged. For indeed, she was-"

 _"-in power,"_ Cyrus had declared as they stood in the hallway outside the oval. It was the first time Olivia had realized that Fitz had let her run the country. And it felt _good_.

"-the best fixer around. Unstoppable, intelligent, ambitious. And all Mellie Grant will ever be is the faithful wife who was betrayed. She deserved my anger: my hatred. She still does. But God Bless Her for kicking me out of the White House."

 _"I'm Olivia Pope,"_ the boss thought to herself, _"and I slept my way to the top."_

No matter how many times they rewrote Mellie's book: that statement seemed true.


	7. Appointments

It wasn't unusual for an event to take place a few floors above the ground. What was unusual was that Susan Ross had to wait in the hallway while everyone else got ready to receive her. One of the other judges was late.

 _Traffic, apparently._

And they wished to spare that person the embarrassment of getting there after the Vice President.

Elizabeth had been to the building across the street enough times to know which floor his office was on. And which side of the block it faced. Her boss, who kept trying to steal glances out of the window, must have wondered the same thing.

 _Is he in?_

"Do you think any other high-ranking officials were invited at the last minute?"

Elizabeth looked through the updated list she had requested from the organizers. She was sure it hadn't changed from the last time she'd asked. The same question had been repeated about six times already, with different wording each time. It was impressive.

Some doors opened and someone arrived. The bodyguards closed around the women and they assumed it was the tardy superintendent. He couldn't be allowed to meet the VP before the commencement. Susan had been allocated five minutes to shake hands and make small talk at the end of the competition before returning to the White House.

The Chief of Staff called the office. "I'm adding an extra hour to the Vice President's visit. We will not need a vehicle. Yes, we will take a security detail."

Lizzie looked at the office building across the street when the call had ended and sighed. According to her calculations, there would still be time.

 _Someone_ needed some adult excitement that day.

"Hello, Alissa?" Ms. North asked the woman at the other end of the second call, "I'd like to schedule an impromptu meeting with The Attorney General."

"Of course, Ms. North. He has the entire morning free. What time shall I set aside?"

"Time to go in, Ma'am," a bodyguard declared.

 _Indeed it was._


	8. Stacked Decks

"You'll excuse my slow movements," Todd Hartbloom stated as he settled into the chair. "Haven't been as spritely since...you know."

"It must be really hard for you," Olivia offered as she sat herself down.

The man had moved into his late grandfather's house outside town, and he looked comfortable yet ailing.

"I hate to bring it up," the fixer began, "but I have to ask some questions about the accident."

"You'd have wasted your trip if you didn't," the man joked.

What do you remember?"

"Well, one moment I was standing on a deck. They use cheap materials for that: we've lodged enough complaints about 'em. Foreman always had the same answer. 'Use what we got until HQ sends us better'. I guess they regret that now."

"What happened next?"

"Next thing I know I'm tumbling from all the way up there. Must have been twenty feet, easy. I fell fast, though. Didn't even have time to scream. But it was terifying as hell. And then...well...there was this..feeling."

"Pain?"

"I wouldn't say that's what it was. I was actually a bit numb when I landed. But something felt...off. Like the fall wasn't the only thing I had to worry about. And then I looked down."

"What did you see?"

"This massive piece of steel growing out of my chest. And then I started screaming. It hurt like hell when I found out what it was."

Olivia didn't comment. She let him continue.

"The other guys came running. Had to hold me down to stop me from moving. Someone had called an ambulance by then. We have a one-button dialler on site. In case we get overwhelmed by dust or gas clouds and can't speak. Anyway, I was screaming my guts out and losing my mind when I saw him- when I saw the ambulance arrive."

The fixer noted his hesitation. He had exposed himself, and she would attack.

"How much alcohol had you had that morning?"

"What are you-"

"Pine Resin had you on near-probation for being drunk at work. And it happened several times before. You've stood on faultier decks than the one you fell off of, so it wasn't entirely the company's fault. You were _drunk_ , weren't you?"

"Hey! Just cos I was tipsy at work at other times doesn't mean I was high that morning. I've been sober for 3 months now. I even have a sobriety chip."

"We have medical records that say you had a high blood/alcohol level on arrival. You didn't even feel the pain of the extraction."

"Because I had passed out by then. Everything went dark when I was in the ambulance. I swear: I wasn't drunk."

"How would you prove that?"

"Cos the foreman he...it's against the rules, but he had us all breathalyzed before we went on site that day."

"You could have told us that before."

"I didn't want to get him in trouble. He's a good man, you know?"

"You want him on your staff when you start your new business," the fixer accused.

Todd went silent. Olivia left the room and called Huck.

"The foreman breathalyzed all the workers on the morning of the accident. The alcohol levels can't have been that high unless he started drinking before he got to work that morning. So how can the records at the hospital say he was drunk?"

"Someone tampered with them," Huck growled. "The company wanted him to look drunk so they set him up."

 _They come to Liv for help, but they don't tell the truth. So many liars._


	9. The Elevator

" _This_ ought to be interesting," Olivia said as she stepped in.

"What a coincidence. I was just coming to see you," the man stated as he pushed the button to OPA's floor.

The doors slid shut and they were officially alone.

"Do you need help starting a conversation, or do you need someone to hit 'record' first?"

He ignored her barb. "What would happen if the public learned that Mellie Grant has hired her husband's ex-mistress to run her campaign? Oh wait: she isn't officially running yet." He let Olivia make a facial expression. "We both know what would happen, but I'll say it anyway. It would kill her bid for the presidency: no, her political career, before it REALLY started."

Olivia made another face. She might be in her own building, but as long as she was trapped in any kind of walled space with him, it was enemy territory. And the first rule of enemy contact still remained true.

 _Volunteer nothing._

"You're _the mistress_. Mellie is _the wronged woman_. Her only political capital is the bitterness of jilted lovers. To have _the mistress_ as an employee: to FORGIVE HER? That would lose her 90% of that vote. And then good luck getting it back before the polls open in November."

The elevator stopped. Only one of them seemed to realize how short the trip was.

The doors slid open to reveal someone's heart-shaped face, which beamed at them both.

" _This_ ought to be interesting."

"Senator Grant," the man greeted as she stepped in and stood between the man and woman who were there before her.

"Now, I'm a lawyer by training. I can read people: it's an asset. And I don't have to have been in this claustrophobic little mechanized box to know what your conversation was about," the senator began as her hand lingered a few inches away from a button on the console.

"Yes, she _is_ The Mistress. She's the reason why my marriage fell apart, according to everyone who isn't involved in our little _love pentagon_ or whatever shape it is right now. But I assure you, Mr. Super-spy bully-boy, that your boss, the President of the United States, my current and somewhat estranged husband, hasn't been squeaky clean either. So while you flaunt your self-righteous pre-accusations about infidelity, how about you consider the fact that mine and Ms. Pope's _naughty bits_ aren't the only coital contact points Fitz has had while being married to me."

" _Andrew's_ certainly had a lot of fun with one of those contact points too, if I'm not mistaken."

It was an immature thing for him to say. But the First Lady had wound him up, and he was finding it hard to stay composed. He technically had more power than her, and she would have to remember that.

"And just how will it look to _your employer_ if the world were to learn of that?"

Mellie let her question hang in the air and pushed a button on the console. The rest of the ride continued in silence until the doors finally slid open once more.

Both women stepped out onto the ground floor. The man followed.

The homeless guy across the street had finished the sandwich he was eating and had resumed rocking back and forth.

"Have a nice day, Captain Ballard," Olivia stated as she and Mellie stood a few feet away from him.

He turned and left: fully aware of both women's eyes watching him leave. There was nothing sexual about it.

 _They wanted to make sure he left the building._


	10. Enjoy Yourselves

"Hi," said the man on the other end of the line.

"I'm sure you didn't call me to exchange pleasantries, David," the woman snapped.

"Susan Ross just left my office."

"I know. I'm her Chief of Staff."

"She asked me out."

"Do you want me to emit a girlish squeal and talk about what you're going to wear?" The blonde snorted in irritation.

"So it's okay if I...you know..."

"For crying out loud, Rosen. You and I? We're not a _thing_. We're not an _acknowledged_ thing. We're not an _exlcusive_ thing. We're never even going to be a _public_ thing."

"Wait, are you-?"

"Our _little arrangement_ wasn't permanent. But since you don't seem to understand that, let me explain some of the characteristics of a relationship to you. The people involved in it have to care about each other. People who care about each other send each other things. They introduce each other to the other important people in their personal lives. They call each other when they have free time, and text each other when they don't. They aren't embarrassed to be seen together in public. They aren't plagued with the instinct to hide behind oak doors and closet hangings whenever they meet."

"Elizabeth..."

"Maybe you care about me. That's _cute_. But I don't know how many ways to tell you I don't feel the same way. You're _stifling_ me. You're _annoying_ me. And you have _terrible_ taste in jewellery."

"So you're-"

"Go on the date with Susan. Enjoy yourselves. Stay sexually unfulfilled for a few days until your heart begins to flutter each time she walks through a door. Maybe you'll kiss her. Spontaneously while she yucks about some geeky little side-project she's been let out of the playpen to do. And then you'll both be in love. And it will be amazing. And I will have found myself another worthy steed with which to ride to a higher level of power in this town."

"You sure don't pull any punches, do you?"

"Good _bye_ , Rosen. Enjoy Hamilton."


	11. Hi We're Angry

"Who...are you? Where am I?"

Being upside down was disorienting. Especially when one _realized_ that they were upside down.

Quinn ran a hand over her toolbox. Huck checked that the doors were locked.

"Answer me!"

"You rich business types," Quinn smirked, "alway giving orders, even when you're completely at someone else's mercy."

Huck pulled an unfamiliar laptop out of his bag and moved closer.

"Please," the Director of Pine Resin Construction said when they were both close enough to touch him, "I'll triple what they're paying you. Quadruple it, even."

"Is double even an option anymore?" Quinn observed aloud and she tried to remember the last time one of her victims offered that amount for freedom.

"The pleading rate must have gone up," Huck observed. Quinn hadn't heard him make a joke in a long time. He must have been very nervous at that moment.

"Keep your money," the woman declared, "we're doing this for fun. See this?"

 _SHRRRRRRRRRR!_

The power drill was particularly loud that day, thanks to the acoustics of the abandoned warehouse.

"No one has to tell you what one of these babies can do to any surface it touches. Hell, we can turn you into Swiss Cheese by accident."

"What do you want from me?"

"We hacked the medical records from the hospital where Todd Hartbloom was treated," Huck explained, "you didn't change the medical records: you had them replaced. Because some intern at the hospital made two copies and you didn't know that. So you paid someone, threatened someone else and manipulated the right person to get the second copy. But you haven't destroyed it yet. We know. Because we were watching you."

The man's eyes opened wider.

"You paid a hacker to break into the hospital's systems and delete the digital copy. We know that because you picked an amateur. And also because, well...he wasn't a fast runner."

Quinn opened the leather bag at her hip to show...a tattooed human hand crusted with blood.

"You recognize this laptop. It's yours," the psychotic man continued, "I could find your password given enough time. But I don't have time. This case should have been solved hours ago. But so many people in this world prefer to _lie_."

The director gulped, and Quinn started the drill again.

"GIVE US YOUR PASSWORD!" She screamed: not just for dramatic effect but so that she could be heard over the screeching power tool.

The tip of the drill inched closer to the man's neck.

"You're going to pass out eventually," the woman stated, "and who knows _what_ you'll be missing when you wake up."

"AAARGH!" The director screamed.

"That's not a word," Huck corrected, as the power drill made contact with the middle of the man's thigh and blood splattered over their clothes.


	12. You Don't Say

Olivia was so preoccupied that she didn't check the incoming number when she answered the phone.

"Please hold for..."

 _"Oh no,"_ she cringed as she understood what had just happened.

The sound of rustling paper filled her ears before someone else spoke.

"Olivia. Hey," the man said.

"I'm waiting to hear what this is about."

"I have some papers in front of me," the man continued, "some very important papers."

"Nothing would be on your desk if it wasn't," the fixer remarked, "we're both e _xtremely busy_ , Fitz. So hurry up and tell me what this is about."

"Divorce papers. I had two copies made and served one of them to Mellie."

"You had two copies made so that you could pretend she served them to you if she delayed signing them," Olivia thought aloud, "you always were a _manipulative_ son of a-"

"Despite our past history, Miss Pope, you will treat me with the respect my office accords me."

"Very well, Mr. President," the woman sighed, "why did you call me?"

"Because I think they're sub-standard. Some clauses are a bit ambiguous. Some language could be framed better. Despite my differences with Mellie, I'd like us both to get a good deal out of this."

"And you want me to...?"

"I want you to take a look at my copies."

Olivia took deep breath and talked herself out of saying what had originally come to mind. She couldn't admit to being on Mellie's side. Taking the papers from Fitz would be a conflict of interest. Not taking them would be an admission of...well...

It was the oldest trick in the book. Client-fishing. Information-fishing. Surveillance by remote questioning. As obvious as a crater on the moon.

Fitz was the dumb one. Sure, he went to Yale. But Mellie had always been smarter. So had Olivia, Cyrus...perhaps even Abby. And he was feeling threatened by his soon-to-be ex wife. So threatened that he-

"You're asking your ex-mistress to spruce up your divorce papers? What kind of man does that?"

"One who only sleeps with geniuses."

"I'm going to hang up now, Fitz. And I'm going to change my number. And when you eventually find out what my new number is, do NOT call me."


	13. Diggity Oh Em Gee

"Ma'am?" The blonde asked the shorter woman standing in the doorway.

"Oh no you don't!" The woman snapped as she marched forward.

Elizabeth retreated backwards into the room she was about to leave. No one else was in there: the annoying intern was off wasting time somewhere and the Chief of Staff had been on her way to fire him.

"Can I help you with-"

"I asked him out!" She said for the umpteenth time after her post-spelling-bee visit.

"Are you...okay, Ma'am?"

"I have a date. I haven't been on one since...oh diggity I can't remember when. What do people wear to musicals?"

"I'd assume the same things they wear to dinner. With an overcoat, of course."

"He wasn't interested in me before," Susan Ross began to pace, as Lizzie retreated behind her desk. "And then he looked like he was really happy to see me when I dropped by unannounced. I know I've been out of the game for a while, but...well, men are still the same creatures, right?"

Elizabeth wasn't sure how she'd answer that.

"Something must have happened to make him suddenly so interested in me. He's sweet, kind, intelligent. Heck, he's the Attorney General of the United States. And he must be really busy. But he made time for me. Granted I asked him out, but...he said yes. To me."

Elizabeth decided to act professional about it. "I've notified the Secret Service. They're on standby in case you want more than just the musical."

"More than...oh. You mean...dinner? I'll have to have dinner with him as well?"

"If you'd like to, Ma'am," Ms. North supplied. "That's what people do if they enjoyed the show."

"Oh my," the Vice President played with a lock of her hair, "I'd have to pick out a dress for that. And a restaurant. Oh diggity I'd have to pick out an entire outfit."

"I could get a store on the line for you."

"Call up wherever you shop at. By golly, Elizabeth, you have an amazing sense in fashion."

"I'm doing that right now," the Chief of Staff stated, as she wondered if her retailer catered to plus-sized women.

The Vice President busied herself by looking at her nails. She would need a manicure. Would she need a pedicure as well? Not if she wore closed shoes. Should she wear heels? Did she have any to begin with?

"They'd like to know if you'd like to transact on site or if they should bring the clothes here."

"The store? Well I can't inconvenience them like that. I'll go to them. WE'LL go to them."

"Ma'am, by 'we', do you mean-"

"You're the good luck charm! You have to get me ready for the date!"

"But-"

"Oh _come on_ , Elizabeth. We have nothing else scheduled for today. And the meeting with construction workers is turning into a snooze-fest, news-wise. We can spare the time to at least whip a look together for my date tonight. And then there's the photo opportunities. You keep saying I don't have enough of those."

Elizabeth couldn't help but feel pre-embarrassed at having to take her yokel of a boss to her favorite clothing store. She would probably be photographed there as well, which meant _everyone_ would want to shop there. And then her secret stash of uber-stylish wares would be gone.

"I'll get us a ride, Ma'am."


	14. When the Homeless See Red

Olivia looked at herself in the mirror once more before she left the bathroom. It felt weird to spend a working day at her office and not moving between critical physical locations while talking endlessly on her phone with her associates.

According to the latest text message, Marcus had found some extra work. She wasn't against the idea of her associates picking up more assignments, but their latest case hadn't been solved yet. Or had it? Her sessions with Mellie were strenuous – a fact she didn't seem to notice until she had to leave the woman's company.

Her new client was apparently waiting in the meeting room. No one wished to trouble Mellie as she wrote her memoir. And no one wished to piss off a Senator when she obviously knew where they live/worked.

Olivia paused in the doorway of the meeting room. It was impolite to stare, but she couldn't help it.

"Mustard?" Quinn offered the person seated at the table.

"Ymff," came a half-choked voice as the person it was attached to stopped chewing to slather their latest meal in the stuff.

 _"Marcus,"_ the boss lowered her voice considerably, _"why is there a homeless man in my office?"_

 _"That's not a man,"_ Huck stated as he walked into the room with another Freedom Burger.

Olivia looked once more. The baggy clothes and hairy face could have fooled her, but there was something about the way the person's shoulders looked so narrow. The way the skin seemed soft, despite all the grime on it...

 _"That's a_ _ **woman**_ _?"_

 _"She's been sitting across the street rocking back and forth for a few days now,"_ Marcus replied, _"you must have seen her."_

 _"I have, but...why is she_ _ **here**_ _?"_

 _"She was looking for us. Had some kinda meltdown and couldn't move from where she fell,"_ Marcus explained, _"I was on my way back from Pine Resin when I heard her screaming your name and sobbing."_

 _"So you brought her_ _ **here**_ _to take her pills_ _?"_

 _"Huck scanned or whatevered her for tracking chips, microphones...everything."_

 _"She wouldn't be here if she wasn't clear,"_ Olivia thought to herself, as she watched the homeless woman drinking from a bottle of something very carbonated and unhealthy.

The visitor burped and sat back. The second burger was right in front of her, but she would save that for later.

"Jessa," Marcus initiated, "this is Olivia Pope."

The woman rose from the chair and wiped her hands clean on a paper napkin.

"I'm so pleased to meet you."

They weren't covered in grime: in fact they looked like they had been washed, with soap. Olivia shook the woman's hand.

"I was...um...I ran out of meds a few days ago. But I was on my way to see you. I live alone, so no one noticed I wasn't at home and so no one brought me my meds."

"I made a trip to the drug store 2 blocks down," Marcus explained.

"I'm not homeless or anything. I'm not broke either."

Huck waved the credit card she had handed him when they had brought her into the building.

"She has over 3 million dollars in her checking account and a savings of over a quarter billion. Made her money by selling an app a few years back."

"Jessa...why were you looking for me?"

"Because I...well...because..."

They let her sit down and she began to gather her thoughts. She swallowed, cleared her throat and began to speak.

"I was saving the money. Because what were the chances I'd make another app and sell it for that much money? Anyway...I have to work to stay alive. I have to have something to do or I feel like hurting myself. I don't hear the voices when I'm working."

"At home?"

"At an office. They've probably fired me by now."

"Continue, Jessa."

"On my way to work there's this construction site. And I can't avoid it. I walk to work: it's not that far."

Olivia raised an eyebrow.

"They taunt me. I know: it's a construction site. Men are allowed to catcall at construction sites, or so the police officers at the station keep telling me."

"You've filed reports?"

"For sexual harassment, yes. First it was just whistling and obscenities being yelled at me. And then a group of the construction workers started following me."

"How do you know they were following you?"

"They would openly declare it when I was walking past them. And then they'd walk behind me. I stopped at a cafe a few times so they could walk past. And they'd just stand in the doorway, waiting."

"No offense, but...are you sure you're not just..."

"Making it up? I _hear voices_ , Ms. Pope. I don't see things. And I filmed them a few times."

Quinn handed Olivia an old-looking but sturdy phone. "She's telling the truth."

"Please keep talking, Jessa," the boss suggested as she watched the footage.

There were 12 videos: all of them quite disturbing.

"I got a gun. It isn't hard: I bought in a gun store. I have a license."

Marcus bit back a retort. If someone as obviously messed up as Jessa could get a weapon, something was clearly wrong with the system.

"My former room mate, she takes my pills sometimes. Sells them. I caught her, and kicked her out. Anyway: on the day she was moving out there weren't enough pills for me to take. I wasn't feeling particularly bad. But I wasn't in a good place, either."

Olivia tried to see the relevance of her last statement.

"I took the gun with me," Jessa continued, "I didn't feel safe. I'd have to go past the construction site a few times that day, and I wasn't about to let those asses get to me. The gun was supposed to make me feel safe. I even put a silencer on it, so the blast wouldn't freak me out. I don't like loud noises."

"What did you...do?"

"There's this huge sign on the corner, before you reach the site. So that day I was about to turn the corner and I fet this...hand. Grabbing my breast. I turned around to see who it was and the guy was just standing there. Smirking. And then he walked away, like nothing happened. He was laughing."

"He walked _ahead_ of you," Huck prompted. He looked upset.

"He did. I stood there for...I don't know how long. I cried a little, and then I became scared. And then I became angry."

"So you went round the corner," Quinn suggested.

"I remembered his face. He was one of them. The construction workers."

"What happened next?"

"They were already working when I got there. The street was clear: I think I was the only person on ground level."

"Someone said something and whistled. It was him: the guy who groped me...I think. He was high up: I think he was about 20 feet in the air or something. In a hard hat."

Olivia pulled up a chair and sat down.

"He...unzipped himself. And shouted something at me. I saw red. And then I don't remember what happened next."

"Do you remember the name of the company? The one on the sign you mentioned," the boss asked.

"Pine Resin Construction."


	15. OPA Needs Pest Control

"Olivia? You've been staring at the blinds for ages now." Mellie prompted the other woman.

"Did you tell Fitz I was helping you with your campaign?"

The question had shot out of the other woman's mouth, right as dark brown eyes arrested Mellie's blue ones.

"Why would I do that?"

Olivia didnt see any signs of lying. But then again: Mellie was a lawyer, and a politician.

She walked out of the room and commanded the nearest person.

"Huck? I want to see all surveillance footage of the office building."

Mellie had been in and out secretly each time. She had always been in disguise, even when she had confronted Jake in the evelator. No one could have guessed who she was, especially when Huck (and Quinn, she suspected) prowled about the block like paranoid wolves.

But something didn't add up. Olivia's gut had been trying to tell her something all day, and the conversation with Jessa – and Mellie – had distracted her.

The senator walked a few paces behind the fixer. "Olivia? What's-"

"First Jake tauntes me in my own office," the other woman interrupted, "then Fitz calls asking about divorce papers."

Quinn was in earshot by then. "Well, to be fair, he wasn't exactly _in_ the office."

There was a pause as everyone's eyes: except Marcus and Mellie's, lit up.

Olivia kicked her shoes off and walked to the elevator, which Huck held open for her and then let slide shut the moment she was in.

"I'll check the floor," he volunteered.

The bug-sweep was thorough: they held the elevator hostage – no one else would need it at that time of day anyway – until they were sure there was nothing else to find.

"He's smart," Huck referred to former Command, "a few years ago I wouldn't have been able to find it. But here it is. Not the latest model: those send data to NSA storage. This is his personal unit."

"You know what this means, right?" Olivia asked the man.

They let the doors slide open, and Quinn had her hand held out. Huck dropped the small device in her palm. Nothing more had to be said.

"What's going on?" Mellie asked as she watched Huck and Quinn running their fingers against the nearest walls. Olivia took her hand and led her back to their work-room.

"Jake bugged the elevator. Now we have to sweep the entire office. And no one leaves, so you'd better get comfortable."

Marcus looked lost: understandably, the spy game was not his sport. But if their office had been bugged, he would have to make it look like he didn't have anything to do with it. The man took his jacket off and dropped to his knees, where he started to feel the underside of the nearest table.

Olivia shut the door behind her. She and Mellie were alone...if only for a few more minutes before the boss went out to help with the sweep. The room they were in at that moment could be bugged as well, but they didn't matter.

"Fitz may be dumb," Olivia began, "but he isn't stupid."

He wouldn't pull a trick like that unless he knew that she knew what he was doing. Unless he wanted her to tell Mellie that their secret was out. Sure, Jake was the head of the NSA. He could have told Fitz the whole thing. But Captain Ballard's information-gathering methods would not be acceptable in court.

"He wants to get a good deal out of your divorce," the fixer continued, "which means he could accuse you of attempting to sabotage his political career in favor of your own bid for the Presidency. Or something along that line."

"But why would he call you?"

"To make me admit that I'm your campaign manager. Which means he was probably recording the phone call."

He was calling from the White House, Olivia. Of COURSE he was recording it."

"Not as a security log," the fixer explained, "on another device. Maybe his own personal cell phone. To make it look like he called me informally."

"I'm gonna need a lawyer, aren't I," Mellie sighed. "Oh screw it. I AM a lawyer, for crying out loud. If he wants a showdown: he's got one."


	16. Powerful People Eat Dinner

"I still can't believe how awesome the show was," Susan remarked as they looked at their menus.

"Good food, good company, splendid entertainment," David remarked, "I could get used to this."

Susan felt her cheeks grow hot, and took a deep breath to calm herself down. It didn't work. Good thing Rosen was looking at his menu.

"I have to freshen up," the VP announced, "only be a jiffy."

She fled the table. He pulled his phone out of his jacket.

"What is it, David?"

"You said you didn't care for me," the man announced, "at least: not enough to even think of giving me anything."

"For crying out loud," the woman on the other end growled, "do you need me to repeat the entire speech?"

"You said 'enjoy Hamilton'," the Attorney General went on, "Susan had just left my office when I called you, so there's no way she could have said that. Unless she had you buy them for her. Did you?"

"Yeah right," Elizabeth snorted,"cos fine, upstanding Susan Ross would send her Chief of Staff out to buy tickets to the most booked show of the year? Grow up."

"So...Susan bought them?"

"You had the tickets: you watched the show. Why're you calling me, anyway?"

"To say thanks, I guess."

Lizzie hung up and slammed her phone on the desk in front of her.

"MEN!"


	17. Revelatory Cab Rides

The man seemed to be in a hurry. He didn't even throw his suitcase into the trunk.

"The airport," he directed the driver, who started up the cab and began to drive.

A few minutes later, the predictable line was said.

"Hey! This isn't the way to the-"

 _"You lied to us,"_ the driver growled.

The doors were locked, and the separator between him and the passenger looked like it could withstand a machine gun barrage.

"LET ME OUT!"

 _"I will eventually."_

They weren't driving to a remote location: that should have calmed him down a bit. In fact: they were driving towards the city. At an incredible speed.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?"

 _"I don't like it when people lie,"_ the driver growled again. He didn't say anything else until much later, when the car finally came to a halt.

* * *

"Are you in the habit of kidnapping your clients, Ms. Pope?"

"Only when they don't answer their phones and try to skip town," Quinn smirked.

They had sent him a photograph of Jessa: cleaned up and looking very sane. He hadn't replied since.

"I can forgive a lot of things," Olivia began, "I have to, in my business. I deal with the lowdown, the sleazy. The rich, entitled, psychotic, sociopathic..."

Hartbloom let her continue. She was _so fired_ anyway.

"But I have one rule that absolutely must NOT be broken," the fixer continued, "and I said it to you when we first met. Do you remember what it was?"

"Do not lie."

"And you've done nothing but break it since then."

Quinn slid a yellow file across the table, and Olivia kept talking.

"You harassed someone until they brought a gun to your construction site. She fired a few shots and you lost your balance. You fell off the deck and impaled yourself on an upright steel bar."

"Why didn't you just admit what happened?" Marcus asked. Olivia hadn't seen him so angry since the lawn chair protest.

"Pine Resin has a zero harassment policy. If word got out that me and my buddies were...goofing around...we'd lose our jobs."

"Why would it matter to you if you were going to start your own company?" Olivia asked.

"Do you know how hard it is to get out of a sexual harassment suit? That kinda thing doesn't go away. Especially now that the internet's happened."

"You're rich anyway. What does it matter to you?" Quinn asked.

"I plan to open a shelter," Hartbloom announced. "For abused women or whatever. I have the paperwork in my bag somewhere-"

Huck dropped the official-looking documents on the table. "They're legit."

"How _kind_ of you," Quinn menaced.

"I'm still suing the company, though," the surrounded man explained, "and I don't want others at the site to talk, so..."

"You've been paying them off, haven't you? To keep them quiet?" Quinn realized.

"And with all the guys at the site clamming up, Pine Resin was beginning to panic. I have a real case against them, so long as no one knows about that crazy bitch with the gun."

"But the company doesn't have enough for a messy lawsuit," Marcus continued, "so they changed your medical records to say you were drunk that day."

 _"Everyone was lying,"_ Huck thought to himself, _"except Jessa."_


	18. No, YOU Shut Up

Mellie looked out of place in the mountain of upturned furniture and papers. But the whole mess was her fault, and the least she could do was help them clean up.

The senator had her shoes off and her hair tied back with a scarf. There wasn't much dust, but whenever a clodu erupted out of nowhere, it caused whoever it made contact with to sneeze.

Olivia looked at the clock on the wall. It struck 28 past, which meant she had enough time to get through before the briefing at quarter-to that happened every night, without fail.

She was alone in her private office less than a minute later, with the door shut behind her.

"I'll put you through, Ms. Pope," the secretary stated, and dutifully did.

"Hello Olivia," the man sounded like he had been drinking. Or he had a cold.

"You had Jake appointed head of the NSA just so you could spy on your ex-girlfriend," the fixer accused him.

"That's not true."

"You had the head of the NSA bug my elevator and provoke me and the First Lady into talking about privileged information so you could have a heads-up about what we've been upto."

"I have a right to know."

"And we have the right to privacy, Fitz. You know what? We're not going to do this anymore. The more I talk to you, the more ways I think up to take you down."

There was no sound from the other end of the line. She would have interrupted him anyway, so she continued.

"So before either of us say or do anything that ends with us having to testify before a house committe, I suggest we cease further communications starting...now."

And then she hung up.


	19. A Bar

"Was that an...explosion?"

"We're several feet below ground, so no one will notice it," Huck explained, "I'm burning all the equipment, just as you asked."

"Tomorrow's a day off for us," Olivia informed the people at the other end of the line, "so both of you, try to get some rest."

"We'll be buying new computers and stuff for the office," Quinn remarked as she probably poured more kerosene fluid on the heap.

"And have everything set up and running by Monday," Huck added.

"Just make sure you sleep sometime before then," the fixer sighed, right before she hung up.

Huck would probably camp at the office. Quinn would get some...Charlie...over the weekend, so that wasn't a problem. Marcus had already gone home and Jessa was in a trauma center, of her own volition. And on Hartbloom's dollar.

It wasn't good for business to get one's clients locked up, but the latest case was worth the drama. It certainly wasn't worth the wasted time, however.

She'd had Mellie produce her manuscript on a typewriter: that was the only machine in the office that wasn't being destroyed. They'd even taken out all the light bulbs and torn out all the wiring. Huck would be very busy...but the more he worked on the office, the less likely he was to hurt someone. She was okay with that.

The glass slid towards her on the counter. A hand was attached to it.

"I know you don't like to be bothered while you're drinking," the bartender asked the woman in white, "but I'll give you one on the house if you answer this question."

Olivia liked to drink outside her house sometimes, just so she could feel like she wasn't mellowing down at someone else's pleasure. An extra one, on the house, would be most welcome.

"Go ahead, Linda."

"Am I crazy, or..." the bartender began, "have I seen that woman on TV before?"

Olivia looked at the end of the bar, where a fashionably-dressed blonde was stirring a drink with a straw.

"She's a staffer at a very important political outfit in town," the fixer explained, "so she's probably been on TV recently."

"I KNEW it," Linda laughed, "Washington, huh?"

"Listen: how about you copy the drink she has and send it to the end of the bar for me?"

"Sure thing, Ms. Pope."

Olivia needed a whiff of (someone close to someone who had) power. They were in Washington, after all. What else did the Capital run on?

The woman was fiddling with her phone when Olivia approached. She didn't even look up when she spoke.

"This brings back memories," the staffer began, "I seem to recall it was a phone very much like this one that first brought us together."

"I thought it was the same one," Olivia admitted.

"It's been a year. Of course I had the other one replaced."

"Finish your drink," Olivia instructed, "another one's on its way."

"Is it?"

"On the house," the fixer declared,"the next one might not be, if your daughter has a sitter. Either way, you won't be paying."

"She's staying with relatives," Elizabeth stated, "are you trying to get me drunk so I spill out vital secrets? Or do you want to hear my life story?"

An arched eyebrow. Dazzling blue eyes. A lock of hair casually obscuring one side of her face. Sarcasm and charm in two sentences.

"We both have to be guarded," the fixer remarked, "it's a requirement and we have to practise shutting ourselves up. So why can't we do that together?"

"How do you DO it?" The blonde suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"How do you walk into a place and control it without hurting – or threatening – anyone? How do you stay at the top of your game when you've failed so badly in the past? How do you get away with sleeping with the President and NOT become this century's Lewinsky? And how can you _still_ care about people after everything you've been through?"

"For a second there I thought you were asking me for tips on how to seduce Fitz."

A little humor never harmed anyone.

"Oh GOD no," Lizzie laughed, "I've seen what happens to the women who fall into bed with him, and that ain't what I want. Neither is a desk, a carpet or a closet next to the press room. If I work with him, I do it without either of us sticking their hands down anyone's pants."

"That's smart," Olivia thought, aloud, as the drink was delivered.

"You haven't answered me, though. How do you do it? I'd pay you for lessons."

"How about we raise our glasses to our biggest secrets and I'll call us a cab."


	20. The Apartment

**It's time for a few meta moments. See if you can spot them: although some are obvious.**

* * *

 _"I have my hallway swept for bugs twice a day. Only thing out there is a security camera."_

For some reason, Olivia's statement when they got off the elevator stuck. She apartment was impressive: then again, everything about Ms. Pope was probably impressive.

The couch was stunningly white. It reminded Elizabeth of a certain daytime talk show she used to watch when she was recovering from her...encounter...with Huck. As fanciful as her kind sometimes was, Ms. North wondered if Olivia's living room furniture used to be red.

"Here we go," the hostess announced as she walked into the room, "wine and popcorn. I can live on this stuff for _weeks_."

"I have to go to work tomorrow, so...this is probably the only alcohol I can have."

Olivia decided not to mention her day off the next day. The thought pleasantly surprised her. She couldn't recall the last day off she'd taken.

Elizabeth unmuted the TV. It was Thursday night.

"#TGIT," the blonde remarked.

"You watch Scandal too?" Olivia asked. For some reason, it didn't occur to her that Lizzie Bear watched television.

"I never miss it. This is the first time I've watched it live, though."

The woman probably DVR'd everything. Including the news.

"If only life was as simple as it is on that show," the fixer mused as she poured the wine.

"If only life was as _stable_ as it is on that show," the staffer agreed as she took the glass.

"I'd drink to that," Olivia both agreed and offered.

Jake added some ice to the cup, walked out of the kitchen to the cheesy globe he had bought as a Lieutenant, and poured himself a drink. The apartment was clean, and he was alone. Exactly the way he liked things.

He sat on the sofa, picked up one of the remotes and clicked a button. The large screen lit up, and he switched the display to the "special" channel he had set up.

Olivia's apartment always looked more inviting when he wasn't in it. He loaded the split screen: she must be at home by then. None of the surveillance stuff he had left in her office was working. That was probably Huck's fault.

There were exactly 4 cameras installed in Olivia's apartment, which Huck had not been able to find.

Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room. The hallway cam was unnecessary: all he'd have to do was hack the legitimate security camera and watch that footage later. But ever since Olivia had stopped sleeping with the President, nothing interesting happened outside her front door anyway.

Something caught his eye. Something...odd...

He enlarged the living room camera footage so it filled the entire screen...and jumped out of his seat.

"Hey Jake," said the recorded message, "while you were bugging my apartment to satisfy some twisted voyeuristic protective urge, I decided to join in the fun. You see: you aren't the only person with an apartment. And you aren't the only person with surveillance equipment."

He looked at the table in front of him.

"I bet your phone just buzzed," the message continued, "and it's going to do that a lot for the next few days. If I were you, I'd check twitter."


	21. Vino and Popcorn

"I think I should call a cab," Lizzie volunteered as the end credits rolled on the last #TGIT show for the night.

"I'll do it," Olivia insisted, as she reached across the couch to get her handbag.

The movement was clumsy enough to make Ms. North burst out laughing. Olivia giggled as she looked through the accessory for her phone.

And then something warm rested on her thigh.

 _Elizabeth's hand._

"I think we should both stop pretending we're drunk," the blonde declared.

"I thought I'd fooled you."

"So did I."

Blue eyes met dark brown ones.

 _"It's perfect,"_ thought Olivia as her mind raced.

Elizabeth North wasn't an elected official, and her fall from grace had put her out of suspicion.

She was close to Susan Ross, who might be a serious contender for the highest office in the next election – if she chose to run – which would pit her against Olivia's client.

 _Mellie Grant._

Lizzie Bear had a daughter, so she wouldn't try anything stupid. Huck wouldn't like it if she did.

And on top of that: no one would even think that they could be...what could they be doing?

"You've always had the most succulent lips," the other woman remarked.

The hostess rose from the couch and switched off the television.

"Your cab will be here in the morning," Olivia stated before she turned back round to face her guest.

Elizabeth took the hand that was held out to her and allowed herself to be pulled up.

Their lips locked the moment they were on their feet. Fingers stroked through hair, shoes were kicked off...a blouse began to be unbuttoned.

Olivia had to steer them both – backwards – to her bedroom, where she flipped Elizabeth mid-tumble so she could land on top of the plush covers.


	22. The Liberty Report

_"Lovers of Liberty,"_ the indignant women began her broadcast, "we are once again faced with the unfathomable incompetence and moral corruption of the Grant Administration. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is the newest address for _Sodom and Gomorrah_. But don't take my word for it," she swiveled to face another camera, "we have footage."

Two people writhed in lustful embrace. By the looks of things, they were very much excited to be together. And they still had their clothes on.

"I'm not one to judge what adults do in the privacy of their own homes," the woman continued, "but I am also not naive about the information the President of the United States receives on a daily basis, and is granted access to by request."

She looked at the center camera. "And _I would know_. I held that position."

She switched back to the footage of the lustful couple. The man's features were clearly visible: the woman had been the only one facing the camera before.

It was clear that they were in a hallway. A well-kept, tastefully-decorated one. Possibly the woman's apartment, by the way she was trying to reach into her handbag.

"So why, in full knowledge of the relationship between Mr. Ballard and Ms. Pope, would Presdent Grant appoint the man as head of the NSA? Is it because he wants to spy on his ex-girlfriend? Or is it because he wishes to control who gains access to his mistress by supplying someone to keep her bed warm until he leaves office, so he can crawl _back in there_ when we're not watching?"

The couple had got the door open, and had since stumbled through the threshold, out of sight.

 _"Lovers of Liberty,"_ Sally Langston intoned once more, "do we _really_ want the head of a crucial security agency to be _beholden_ to the _personal_ _whims_ of a man and his – rather crafty – mistress?"

The screen showed a slowed-down version of the previous footage, where Jake's face was visible, and Olivia's face showed nothing but joy on it.

"Can we trust Mr. Ballard to act with integrity and perform due dilligence when he's sleeping with the famed King-maker of Washington? I'll let you be the judge."

* * *

 **The End. Thanks for reading.**


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